


Je Te Veux

by The_Black_Cat



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Classroom Sex, F/F, Professor!Chloe, Student!Beca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Black_Cat/pseuds/The_Black_Cat
Summary: Damn. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. She should be concentrating!She tried to look away, at the blackboard, at the laptop sitting on the top of the teachers’ table, at the wall to her right, but then Miss Beale moved and Beca’s eyes were instantly on her. She watched as the firm, fit legs shifted, the body turned and the shapely ass was brought into the view.Beca salivated.She was screwed. She was so screwed.(Oh, if only).ORThe teacher-student PWP nobody asked for.





	Je Te Veux

She was beautiful. There was no other word to describe her. Well, there were, plenty of them, each more extravagant and truthful than the others, but, at the same time, they all seemed somewhat lacking, like they would only describe and glorify a certain part of her, a trait or a curve, while overshadowing everything else.  But she wasn’t like that. Each and every part of her was just as exquisite as all the others, just as perfect, as amazing. And the only word that came to mind when looking at her, which had even the slightest chance of capturing at least a little bit of her presence, was beautiful. Because, honestly, how else do you describe the vision that is Chloe Beale?

Beca’s eyes followed the line from her dark-blue high-heels, up the curve of her calves, over the black fabric of her tight-fitting pencil skirt covering what could only be perfect skin of her thighs, continuing up the alluring dip and then the gentle rise of her lap and flat stomach, to two round, perky breasts hidden from the hungry stare by a dark-blue button-up, up the elegant column of her neck and finally stopping on the perfectly and precisely cut, shaped and molded contours of her face, lined by a mane of wavy, gingerly-red hair. Beca couldn’t decide which part of the woman’s face to concentrate on, her pink, deliciously looking lips or her eyes blue as the sky and the ocean combined. They both were very attractive.

And now, Miss Beale was standing in front of the blackboard, a chalk in hand and expectant blue eyes glued to one of the students in the class, as she waited patiently for them to answer her question. Beca registered the sound of French words (some mispronounced, she noticed), but she couldn’t make them out. She was way too busy staring at the gentle curve of the teacher’s lower belly. She caught herself licking her lips, and right after that, she caught herself thinking of how she wanted her tongue to trace the skin underneath the blue button-up instead of her own lips.

Damn. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. She should be concentrating!

She tried to look away, at the blackboard, at the laptop sitting on the top of the teachers’ table, at the wall to her right, but then Miss Beale moved and Beca’s eyes were instantly on her. She watched as the firm, fit legs shifted, the body turned and the shapely ass was brought into the view.

Beca salivated.

She was screwed. She was _so_ screwed.

(Oh, if only).

“…use du in this context. You want to say you only eat a slice of bread, not the whole loaf. Therefore you say _Je mange du pain…”_

Beca swallowed. Would she use the verb _‘manger’_ if she said she wanted to eat Miss Beale? She would ask if it didn’t sound so weird and disrespectful in her own head (she got goosebumps just thinking of actually asking that question out loud, and not the good kind). Maybe she could just find some French person who could answer that without it being weird. And maybe she could learn French with them. Then she would impress Miss Beale with her language prowess (and later tongue prowess) and they would live happily ever after.

“Beca?”

Or maybe not, Beca thought as she lifted her eyes to look at the beautiful face of the teacher, who was now watching her intently. “Could you read the next sentence, please?”

“Uhm…” she cleared her throat, looking down at the paper in front of her. What exercise were they doing now? Which sentence was she supposed to read? She couldn’t have been in her head long enough for them to be far, far away from what she knew they did last. Then again, she was in her head for the better part of the past hour, so maybe they could. Damn. She seriously needed to concentrate. She should’ve stopped those thoughts and fantasies and everything in between, and just concentrate on the language.

_“Exercice trois, phrase six.”_

Beca swallowed. She should definitely concentrate on the language. On how easily the words rolled off of the teacher’s tongue, on how beautifully those soft lips embraced every single sound. She wondered, for only a brief moment, if those lips would embrace moans of pleasure in the same, elegant manner.

_“J-Julie ne boit pas de café avec s-_ uhm, suc-suk… how do you pronounce that?”

Miss Beale smiled such a small smile that Beca thought she might’ve imagined it. “In what position is the ‘u’ in that word?”

Missionary, doggy style, cowgirl, Beca didn’t really mind any of them.

“There are two positions of the ‘u’ letter in French words,” Miss Beale prompted, writing two words onto the blackboard. “How do you read this?”

“ _Vous?_ ”

“And this one?”

“ _Vu._ ”

“The ‘u’ in the word in the sentence is in position similar to this…” the teacher pointed to the first word on the blackboard, then the second. “…or this?”

“The first one?”

“There isn’t ‘o’ in front of ‘u’ in that word. So the pronunciation of ‘u’ will be the same as in the second one. _Sucre.”_

_“Sucre,”_ Beca repeated after Miss Beale prompted her to do so.

_“Très bien_. Just, you should remember that French people very much like to use ‘u’ and ‘o’.”

_Yeah_ , Beca thought while she tried to keep the dirty smile off of her face, _I would love to put that theory to test. Bet you’d use ‘uh’ and ‘oh’ pretty often with my mouth on your clit._

Miss Beale then started talking in slow French and walking around in front of the blackboard, showing off her lovely, firm-looking backside to Beca every time she turned towards the window. Damn. Why did she do this? Why did she put Beca through this sweet, sweet torture?

Trying to distract herself, Beca again made her eyes wander. Her gaze stopped on Miss Beale’s small, aquamarine blue stone of an earring, only to start imagining how she would take the earlobe into her mouth and suck on it while her fingers were otherwise occupied. Then it moved to those perfect lips, and she started imagining how she would kiss them, suck and bite on them while she’d circle the woman’s clit with the tips of her fingers. She moved her eyes to the slim column of the teacher’s elegant neck, and her mind was soon filled with the images of her kissing and biting the pale skin there, sucking to leave her marks on the pulse point, at the joint of her neck and shoulders, on her collarbones… Her imagination then took its own course, and her eyes probably followed, as she imagined kissing down the teacher’s chest, to the tops of her perky breasts, sucking the pebbled nipples into her mouth. She thought of pushing the redhead back into a wall, falling on her knees and devouring her. She thought of what Miss Beale would sound like while coming.

She registered the teacher talking in French again, and she wondered for a moment whether the woman would speak in French with Beca’s mouth sucking on her clit, too.

Beca cursed under her breath. She shouldn’t be thinking about it. This was her teacher, damnit! Even if they weren’t bound by the university’s policy about fraternizing with teachers, there was an age difference (not that big, according to how young Miss Beale looked), there were things, restrictions, stuff that didn’t allow Beca to do anything about her frustration and crush, even though Beca couldn’t really name any of those ‘stuff’ right now.

“…write the description of two famous people. That’s all for today, thank you for your attention.”

Beca’s head jerked up. She looked around her, at her classmates that she didn’t even know the names of, as they packed their things, stuffed them into their bags in a hurry to leave. She didn’t understand them. Why did they want to leave? There was no place better to be than in the company of Miss Beale. Beca would spend most of her free time just sitting there, listening to the teacher talk on and on if she could. But she couldn’t. Not that she didn’t have the time, she had three hours until her next lecture, but Miss Beale probably had other lectures to teach and the students would probably find it very strange if Beca just appeared in a classroom of Miss Beale’s lecture out of nowhere (not to mention how weirded out the teacher would be). So Beca slowly stood up and reached for her stuff. She put the notebook and the papers with exercises into her bag, took out her earphones and put them around her neck, then threw her bag over her shoulder.

There was a small group of people around Miss Beale, and by what she caught from the conversation, they were talking about absences. Then she reached into her bag to retrieve her doctor’s note of excuse. She had missed last week’s seminar, and though she didn’t have to show it since it was her only missed lecture, she’d take any chance to be with Miss Beale a moment longer. So she stayed back, gripping the piece of paper like her life depended on it, waiting for the small group to dissolve, since she didn’t want to intrude (and she wanted to be alone with the woman, even if it was for just half a minute).

When the last of the people left the room, Beca found herself standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, one hand gripping the strap of her bag, the other holding the paper. Miss Beale looked at her with expectant eyes, a look similar to the one she usually gave her students when she was waiting for an answer. It made Beca nervous, even more nervous than she already was.

“I just-err I just wanted, ehm, for the last week, since I wasn’t here…” she stuttered, thrusting the hand with the doctor’s note in it forwards, for the redhead to see.

Miss Beale glanced at the attendance sheet. “That was your only absence, there’s no problem with that.”

“I know I just-uhm, I like it when everything is as it should be.”

“So do I.”

Beca cleared her throat, shoving the note into the back pocket of her jeans. She didn’t want to leave. She dreaded the moment she would leave this room and Miss Beale with it for the following week. She wanted to stay here, talk to her about something. She even considered asking the woman for private French courses, since her French wasn’t all that good.

“Is there anything else, Beca?”

God, she loved how Miss Beale said her name. She gave it this French accent, only a little, and her voice dropped half a tone, but it was enough to make Beca shiver and her knees weak.

“Uhm…” Beca cleared her throat for what felt like thousandth time, looking down at the high-heels on her teacher’s feet. They made the redhead even taller than she normally would be, and it took even the little self-confidence Beca had in her away.

“Yes?” Miss Beale prompted.  

Beca hummed. She didn’t know what to do. What was she supposed to do? Should she do something? Or should she just turn around and leave? Maybe that would be for the best. There wouldn’t be so much tension out of the classroom and she wouldn’t be so nervous. Sure, she would regret not doing anything, but she would be safe, and she wouldn’t get kicked out of the university for fraternizing with her professor.

“Well,” Miss Beale said, turning to the desk where she still had papers and materials for her lectures scattered around, “If there’s nothing else, I wish you a good day.”

“Y-yeah, you too,” Beca nodded. Of course she would be sent away. It was foolish to even try to think about anything else. Miss Beale probably had a handsome boyfriend somewhere, maybe even a fiancé, and she was probably sharing an apartment with him and she was probably happy. She wouldn’t want some nobody like Beca.

She shouldn’t have imagined anything, she scolded herself on the way out. Imagination was stupid. Why did people even have it? It was useless! It only put images into your head that you’d come to hope for, only for those hopes to be crushed by the cruelty of the unforgiving reality. There was no point to having something as useless as imagination.

She registered the sound of footsteps and rustling clothes, the feeling of warm touch on her wrist, and then she was pressed with her back against the door and with a pair of warm, soft lips against her own. Her eyes closed on instinct, as she couldn’t see anything anyways. A warmth spread through her, from her lips down her throat and through her whole body, making her relax against the support the door provided. She realized there was a hand on her wrist, and another one on her neck, helping spread the warmth through her blood. She could feel the soft movements of the sharp jaw and soft lips, and her body followed the lead set, even without the consent of her mind (which was now shut anyways).

There was a tongue on her lips, warm and wet and oh, so exciting. She opened her mouth on instinct, her own tongue slipping out to greet the intruder, sliding against the wet muscle, inviting it in and deeper inside. There was nothing better than kissing Chloe Beale.

Kissing Chloe Beale…

She was kissing Chloe Beale.

Chloe Beale was kissing her.

Her French teacher was kissing her.

The woman she’s been crushing on for the last three months was kissing her.

But that couldn’t be! She was dreaming. This wasn’t happening. She needed to wake up from this daydream or fantasy or whatever the fuck it was. 

She tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn’t budge, too busy enjoying the redhead’s attentions. The only thing that came through was a low moan, or a whimper, she wasn’t sure. She just knew she could feel the lips pressed against her own spread into a smile.

She lifted the hand that wasn’t gripped and held tight, enjoying the warmth she felt as her fingers traveled up her teacher’s side, to her shoulder and to her neck. She pressed herself into the body in front of her, letting her head fall back slightly. God, if this was a dream, she didn’t want it to end.

But was it a dream? It all felt so real…

“What are we doing?” she asked when she kiss cooled down a little and their tongues weren’t so busy dancing with each other.

The redhead didn’t move away from her. She didn’t move an inch, their lips still joined, barely, a touch that tingled with anticipation, promise and teasing. “We’re kissing.”

“But why?

“I’ve seen the way you look at me during lectures,” Miss Beale said, her voice low and somewhat hoarse, a soft, French accent lingering in her words, and it did things to Beca that she didn’t know were possible. That, together with whole two periods of watching and listening to the woman had its effect on her. She was positively drenched. Damn.

“I-I’m…”

“You’re just too blind and too busy giving me the bedroom eyes that you haven’t seen that I look at you the same way.”

“Wh-what?”

_“Je te veux,_ Beca. _Je veux tes doigts, tes lèvres…”_

“Fuck,” Beca whimpered. She was surprised that she understood what the redhead said, in her current state of mind. Her panties were more than probably ruined. Yep, she was so wet she wouldn’t be surprised if she found it had seeped through her jeans.

With a sudden surge of strength and determination, she pushed against the taller woman, navigating her blindly until they were stopped by a wall. Beca pushed her body closer to Miss Beale, pushing her even more against the wall. Her lips went to work on the mouth in front of her with a passion she hadn’t yet felt in her life. Her tongue licked over the soft lips with power, and Miss Beale instantly complied, opening her mouth, kissing back with as much passion as she was getting.

And then Miss Beale whimpered. Yes, she actually whimpered, and it made Beca feel powerful, like just that one sound made it possible for her to do anything. Her kisses grew more aggressive and forceful, her hands gripped what they could find – a handful or red hair and a mound of flesh covered by fabric. It was soft and filled her hand perfectly and she didn’t even know why, but she squeezed, getting another whimper, this one more moan-like, from the teacher.

She salivated. The taste of Miss Beale’s mouth was the most addictive one she’d ever had on her tongue. It made her wonder, for only a brief moment, since the kiss didn’t allow time for thinking, how other parts of the woman would taste. God, she had to know.

Her mouth detached itself from her teacher’s lips and moved down, to her chin, to her jawline, until it finally settled on the column of her neck. Beca took a long lick up the redhead’s pulse point. She had a hard time keeping in the moan that wanted to fall out of her mouth at the taste of the redhead’s skin.

As she began a gentle sucking there, a soft sound left Miss Beale’s mouth and Beca decided, with a sense of pride and excitement, that she needed to hear more sounds from the woman. It was intoxicating, the power that came with that one, small moan, the knowledge that it was Beca who made her let out that moan… She needed to hear more, to feel more, she needed more. She realized her hands were squeezing, one pulling at the hair it was holding, the other instinctively kneading the flesh in it, but when Miss Beale let out another moan and brought Beca’s mouth back to hers, she forgot all about having hands.

Too absorbed in the kiss, Beca didn’t notice when or how, but her hands had unbuttoned the dark-blue shirt, and were now roaming free on the fair skin of her teacher’s torso. It was smooth and soft and hot and oh, so amazing. Soon she had the bra, which she didn’t even notice the color or texture of, undone and her hands were kneading the soft, perky mounds of flesh. She pushed the bra up, not bothering with pulling down the straps from the redhead’s shoulders, releasing the perky breasts from their already loose confines. Beca’s mouth instantly went to the uncovered flesh, her lips closed around one of the pink, pebbled nipple. She sucked, licked, nibbled on the flesh, making the older woman moan and gasp. Beca herself gasped when the teacher’s hands waved into her hair, gripped handfuls of the brown tresses and pulled her closer. The way Miss Beale’s squeeze pulled at her hair made a jolt of arousal shoot through Beca’s body, straight to her core. If she weren’t drenched already, she totally would’ve been now.

After spending (not nearly) enough time on one breast, Beca moved to the other, lavishing it with the same kind of attention, gently nibbling on the pink flesh, which got her a pull on her hair. This time, she moaned together with her teacher. She let her hands roam the soft flesh of Miss Beale’s body, up her sides, down her back to her ass, squeezing the flesh covered by black fabric of her skirt to test its firmness – and she wasn’t disappointed.

“God, Beca, just fuck me,” Miss Beale panted, pulling at the brown hair in her hands, making Beca gasp.

It took the brunette a moment to get her thoughts together to form a response. “What, no French now?”

“Does French get you going? Should I only speak French with you?”

“I don’t think I’d understand.”

“ _Toi n’avez pas à comprendre_. _Tu dois me baiser.”_

Beca whimpered. She didn’t know what was said, didn’t understand the words, the sentences, but it made her salivate. Her hands became frantic as they went to the black skirt on Miss Beale’s hips, trying to find a zipper, or buttons or something to make it fall down, to take it off, to bare the thighs and her target in between them. But when her fingers failed to palpate any of those, she let out a frustrated growl. Her hands moved down, to the backside of the teacher’s knees, while her mouth also moved south, to the soft skin of Miss Beale’s belly. She left open-mouthed kisses on her way, licking and sucking on the skin here and there.

And then Miss Beale giggled.

“What?” Beca asked, looking up at the beautiful face above her, trying (and probably failing) to hide her inner panic, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. It just tickles.”

Beca stared. It tickles? It _tickles_? What the fuck?! She was trying to be smooth and sexy and work her partner up to what she was about to do next, and Miss Beale tells her it _tickles_?! Fuck. Maybe she shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe this was a bad idea. Nope, this was definitely a bad idea. Miss Beale was her teacher! She was about to go down on her teacher! Oh, God. Fuck! She shouldn’t. She should just leave, go away, forget this happened, she should…

“I know you’re freaking out, but please, hold on with that until after you’ve made me come.”

“Fuck,” Beca breather out, still looking into those blue, blue eyes of Miss Beale. Her hands, seemingly moving on their own, went up, under the tight skirt, pushing the somewhat elastic fabric up, up until it was bundled on the woman’s hips. She then traced the soft skin on the backside of Miss Beale’s thighs, enjoying the silky-like feeling under her fingers. She took one short, teasing lick on the skin under the redhead’s bellybutton, getting a small, cute giggle in response, before she moved down.

Her hands trembled as they hooked under the hem of the panties (this time she noticed they were bright yellow) and slowly pulled them down. Her breath was shaky, her mouth suddenly wet with saliva, her nose and lungs filled with the sweet musk coming from between the teacher’s legs. She licked her lips as her eyes focused on the mound of flesh in front of her. The tips of her fingers tingled, her tongue seemed like made of wood and cotton. Was it always like that? Or was it because this was her first time? Or maybe because it was her crush she was about to eat out?

There was a pull on her hair, which made her lift her eyes up, to look at the beautiful face of Miss Beale.

Another pull, a tug, really, was followed by a soft whine. “Beca, I swear to god, if you don’t start fucking me in the next ten seconds, I will make sure you-oh _fuck!_ ”

Beca didn’t give her partner the chance to finish her threat. Her lips touched the lower lips of her teacher, her tongue reaching out to slip in between those lips and deepen the kiss. She moved her tongue slowly, gently around the hood of the woman’s clit, drawing soft, short whimpers out of Miss Beale’s mouth. She then moved her tongue lower and took a long lick from the entrance up to the clit. The taste that assaulted her tongue was exquisite. She couldn’t describe it, but she knew she needed to have more. She slowly dragged her tongue up and around the small clit, which was now peeking from its hood, as if expecting the attention. Without a second thought, she closed her lips around it, letting her tongue lavish it with attention. She let out a soft sound when she felt the hands in her hair pull at the tresses, while they also pushed her closer, deeper into the sweet heaven. One of Miss Beale’s legs moved up to rest on Beca’s shoulder, opening herself to the attention of Beca’s tongue.

“Oh, yes… oh, Beca… yes, oh, oh, fuck, yes…”

Beca smirked, despite herself, at the words coming out of her teacher’s mouth. She moved lower, her tongue gently probing at the entrance to Miss Beale’s pussy, before she pushed it inside as far as it would go. She started to move her tongue, wriggle it around, pulling it out and pushing it back in. It felt almost awkward, her tongue felt too soft and limp, and the angle of her head had her whole body moving with the thrusts of her tongue, but Miss Beale seemed to like it, since she continued to let out soft gasps of _“yes, oh yes, fuck, oh, please, yes, oh, oh God,”_ so Beca decided not to stop, slow down or even waver.

When she could feel the back of her neck pulse with pain, she decided to focus on the bundle of nerves again, taking in into her mouth, sucking on it, licking around and over it.

“ _Merde_ , _Beca, je veux tes doigts… à l'intérieur de moi…_ _“_

Beca shuddered at the words. She brought her hand up, caressing the skin of Miss Beale’s inner thigh on the way. She even stopped lavishing attention on her clit so that she could concentrate. She took her fingers into her own mouth, licking them to wet them. Then she touched around the teacher’s entrance, with her middle finger, probing, trying to see if she was ready. By the amount of wetness there, she was.

Miss Beale was about to say something, Beca could hear her breathe in, but it came out as a high-pitched, long moan when Beca’s finger made its way inside. It was hot and wet and soft and tight and _oh, fuck._ After a few thrusts of her finger – Beca relished in seeing the wetness on her skin every time her digit exited the hotness of Miss Beale’s pussy – she added another one, twisting them around both on her way inside. She tried spreading them out inside, just to test how much resistance the redhead’s inner walls would put, then she tried to wiggle them, twirl them inside, watching, listening for signs that she was doing something right or wrong.

The hands in her hair tightened and a sharp _‘oh’_ left Miss Beale’s mouth when Beca curled her fingers in a come higher motion.

“Deeper-Beca, fuck! Harder, please, oh please, Beca, _oh, merde_ , don’t stop! Don’t you –oh, don’t you dare st-stop! Oh, God, oh, oh Beca…”

Beca was mesmerized by the sounds and gasps leaving the redhead’s mouth, by the way the muscles of her stomach and thighs moved, jerked and shook under the porcelain-like skin, by the way her entrance let out more and more wetness, coating her fingers, her palm, her wrist…

She leaned in, licking the wetness from her hand, before she again took the sensitive nub at the apex of Miss Beale’s pussy into her mouth. She soon let go of it, however, finding the brush of her fingers on her chin distracting. Instead, she only used her tongue to massage the redhead’s clit, strong, fast and unrelenting. Miss Beale was moving her hips in a jerky manner, making it hard for Beca to try for precise movements. The thigh on the brunette’s shoulder twitched and jerked, pushing against her head with a force Beca didn’t expect from someone as fragile-looking as her teacher. Her hand was beginning to hurt with a cramp from the workout, her neck and tongue felt tired and somewhat inept. God, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make Miss Beale orgasm. She won’t be able to-

“Oh, fuck, I-I’m coming! Oh, Beca! I’m coming, I’m – Oh, _fuck_!”

She stilled. Her body seemed to get caught in a spasm, her thighs squeezing around Beca’s head, her hands gripping the brown tresses with a force that was more than painful, but even so, Beca enjoyed the moment. If she thought Miss Beale was beautiful before, she wouldn’t be able to find a word for her now. She was so… so carefree, so relaxed, the pleasure evident on her face, in her body. It was… it was the best thing Beca could ever imagine.

It took a few moments, which were filled with panting and soft whines and rapid breath, for the two to untangle themselves from each other. Beca licked her fingers clean before reaching into her bag to retrieve a tissue she could use to wipe her fingers into. Miss Beale let out a long, deep sigh that sounded so comfortable, so sated, that Beca risked a glance at her. Her body was relaxed, her face calm, her eyes shone with something Beca couldn’t pinpoint. It was beautiful.

Then it downed on Beca. She just had sex with her teacher. She just made her French teacher, who she had a crush on for like three months, cum in her mouth. She… she just broke more than a handful of moral rules, university restrictions and she was sure there were also some laws broken, as well. Fuck. She shouldn’t have. She should’ve stopped it when it began. She should’ve just ran away, she should’ve…

“Don’t overthink this,” came the soft voice of Miss Beale.

“H-how did you know I w-was…”

“You have it written all over your face,” the teacher smiled as she pulled her skirt back down. “You were amazing, this was amazing. Now get over here so that I can return the favor.”

Fuck. She didn’t think about this. No, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. No. Nope. Just no.

“I-I’m, ah,” Beca stuttered, trying to kick-start her brain. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t let Miss Beale touch her like that. It wasn’t in her. She already broke so many rules, if she let it continue, it would be even more rules broken, they would get even deeper into this gutter. They couldn’t. She couldn’t. She had to leave. She had to, she needed to… “I, a-actually, I have to go.” Beca managed to say, too quickly and too quietly, but she didn’t care. She just grabbed her bag and ran out of the classroom, heading straight for the bathroom to wash her hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so that happened. 
> 
> I'm sorry for any grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language.
> 
> Please, leave comments and kudos if you liked this naughty little thing, and I just might add something to it later. Dirty sinners gotta stick together. 
> 
> I hate all of you, hoomans (kidding, I don't even know you and I already love you).


End file.
